‘Twas the week before Christmas

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Hello fellow BlinkPackers and dear readers. With the holidays upon us, I am up to my chin in homemade butter cookies, gift wrap, and trips to the frigid north to catch up with the in-laws. This time of year faithfully delivers the loss of routine — a tragedy for this budding young blogger struggling to drum up a few morsels of time for cobbling together enough freshly pressed blog posts to keep his audience interested.

The reality I must face is that the holidays may simply not hold enough time for regular posting. And that is a shame, because in the course of these few weeks, I will be enjoying many midwestern haunts — perfect stages for BlinkPacking gallivants and the delicious tales of adventure that inevitably result — including Cincinnati, Chicago, the budget-food wonderland of Chicago’s west suburbs, and Michigan’s south shore.

I’ll do my best.

In the meantime, enjoy this quick recount of a fabulous pre-Christmas bike ride around the city of Atlanta. I wish all of you a warm, wonderful Christmas and many delightful adventures in the new year. Cheers!

‘Twas the week before Christmas
And all through A-T-L
The roads were abhorrent —
The traffic was hell.

School buses deposited
Their children with glee
As their flashing red stop signs
Made drivers, needing to pee,

All the madder. The rage
sent tremors down spines.
They erratically jolted
Across yellow lines.

There I was in the midst
Of the chaos and swerves,
Ambling along on my bike,
A bundle of nerves.

With each blur of a car
I considered the dread
Of the chance I’d be spending
The holidays dead.

But the piles of cookies
I’ve munched this December
Deposited flab in more places
Than I care to remember

So onward I pedaled
To rid my loathe flaw
To flay away flab —
To Impress mother-in-law

When somewhere behind me
Arose such a clatter
I craned my head ’round
To see what was the matter.

Perhaps Santa and his reindeer?
No, no, that’s not it.
‘Twas U.P.S. barreling toward me
Watch out! Holy… moley?

But the brown-clad truck driver —
A professional was he —
Looked up from his texting
And missed little, old me.

Onward he careened
To deliver (or bust)
A cornucopia of Christmas presents
Leaving me in the dust.

Though hairy, and scary,
With moments of dread,
I cycled away pounds
Of frosted gingerbread

Now I head north
All dapper and swank —
Amid occasional scares,
I have cycling to thank.

With wishes to you
For a new year divine,
Allow me to offer
This humble opine:

Choose to adventure,
Even if fraught with fright.
Happy Chrismtas to all,
And to all a good night.

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